


Tomorrow's Problem

by SylvanWitch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bombing, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: After an explosion almost kills Tony, Steve cleans him up and gets him dirty again.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57
Collections: Spicy Advent - Multi-fandom Porn Advent Calendar 2019





	Tomorrow's Problem

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Shower."

Steve is hollow-eyed with exhaustion, as wrung out as the serum ever lets him look, and Tony’s got a gash across his shoulders bleeding sluggishly through his dress shirt.

The bruise on his cheekbone promises a wicked shiner in the morning, and Steve touches it almost reverently with the tips of his shaking fingers.

It had been close—so fucking close. The metallic click of engagement, the growing whine before release.

A collective held breath, wide eyes meeting across a crowded room gone ominously still.

Concussion shoving him back over a table, losing sight of Tony, who was halfway to the device when it went off.

Ears ringing, eyes watering in the chemical stench, Steve had lifted a table off of his legs, removed a too-still woman from the floor at his feet, and then stumbled in the direction of the blast.

He’d found Tony curled into a ball behind an overturned table, a lethal spray of roofing nails inches from his face, which he’d bruised on someone’s shoulder on the way down.

Now, Steve watches the thin pink rivulet as it winds its way down the planes of Tony’s back, steadies him as he hisses against the sting of water on the cut, which he’d gotten after the initial explosion, after Steve had helped him out of the rubble and they’d stumbled around the room, triaging the injured, assessing the blast pattern, Tony talking in a steady stream to Jarvis, ignoring the law enforcement officers swarming the room except to say, “No, I’m fine,” and waving them off.

Tony had belied his feckless playboy persona, ordering the chaos with a few well-placed words and one or two productive name-drops.

Then he’d stepped into the service corridor to catch his breath and right into the whip-end of a secondary charge, set to catch the first responders with the wounded on stretchers.

Thankfully, it had detonated early.

Blessedly, they’d been at the farthest reach of the impact zone.

Finally, Tony had let Steve take him home, to their suite in the Tower, where Steve had stripped him with tight-lipped determination and then herded him into the shower, so he could clean that cut.

Now, Tony lets himself fall back against Steve’s chest, resting his head in the hollow at the base of Steve’s throat, and breathes, “Please,” almost soundlessly, once and then again, until Steve takes him in hand, strokes him to life, wraps his other arm around Tony’s chest, holding him up, and murmurs, “I love you,” into his ear until Tony gasps and comes, his spend mingling with the pink froth at the drain.

Later, after Steve has toweled him dry, treated Tony’s wound with antibacterial cream, and laid down a clean, dry towel to keep it from staining the bed, Tony says, “Please,” again, and Steve obliges, kneeling between Tony’s knees and stroking himself hard and fast, faster still when Tony says, “God, yeah, Steve, c’mon, babe,” coming hard, painting Tony’s chest and throat and chin, a single, fat pearl landing on his lower lip, Tony’s pink tongue coming out to lick it off.

“Mmmmm,” Tony purrs, contented.

He’s asleep before Steve comes back with a warm washcloth to clean him up.

Content to listen to him breathe, Steve slides into bed beside him, buries his nose in his hair, and lets himself drift off, content to know that they’re both here for now, alive and together.

Tomorrow, someone else will probably try to kill them, but that’s a crisis for another day.


End file.
